


Paying the Rent

by Arduinna



Category: Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arduinna/pseuds/Arduinna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Agency has a new landlord, and it's time to pay the rent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paying the Rent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sin/gifts).



"As you can see, gentlemen, we have a new landlord." The Official jerked a thumb at the wall behind him, where a shiny new shield for the U.S. Geological Survey had pride of place. "And it’s time to pay the rent."

Darien sat up straight. "We’re going to be surveyors?"

"Surveying is cool," Hobbes said, nodding to himself.

"It is, way cooler than these things usually go. Hey, do we get to use those thingies?" Darien grinned in anticipation. That would be awesome.

Hobbes quirked his eyebrows at him. "Thingies?"

"Yeah, you know, those surveying thingies, where they stand around looking at the thingies and taking notes..." He gestured vaguely.

"Oh, the _thingies_." Hobbes nodded sagely.

"The thingies, right."

"Yeah, boss, do we get to use those?"

"No, you do not get to use the thingies!" the Official barked, glaring at them both. "You need specialized training for that. What the USGS needs from you two is more in line with your own skill sets."

Darien blinked and exchanged glances with an equally mystified Hobbes. "Sorry, but—the US Geological Survey needs us to break into something?"

"Or, you know, do spy stuff?" Hobbes added.

"Not exactly. You're being sent out to do recon."

"Recon's good," Hobbes said, looking at Darien.

Darien nodded warily. "Yeah, it _sounds_ good. But why do surveyors need someone else to do recon for them?" The door opened behind them as the Official finished speaking, and Eberts' distinctive footsteps crossed the room.

"Eberts! Perfect timing."

"Thank you, sir."

"Never mind that. Tell the boys what they're going to be doing." The Official smiled.

Darien winced. It was never good when the Official looked that cheerful.

Eberts settled into his customary place by the Official's desk, putting a bulky pile on the corner. "You will be working for the U.S. Geological Survey—"

"We already know that, _Eberts_."

"—specifically, the Water Science division."

"Water is a science?" Darien asked.

"Oceanography's a science," Hobbes pointed out. "That's water."

"Yeah, but that's studying the ocean, you know, currents and tides and stuff. This is just water, plain old H20."

"Yeah, but you've got your earth science, right? Makes sense there'd be a water science."

"No, see, that's not earth like dirt, it's Earth like the planet," Darien said earnestly. He stayed focused on Hobbes, but could see the Official starting to puff up in his chair a bit. Almost there.... "And, okay, have you ever heard of air science?"

"No... well, aeronautics, like NASA."

"But not just air."

"NOAA! Atmospheric, that counts as air," Hobbes said triumphantly, then wilted a little. "Wait, that's back to oceanography, isn't it."

"See?"

"Man has a point, Eberts. How can just plain water be a science?"

"Enough!" the Official snapped. "It's a science because I say it is. Eberts! Continue the briefing."

Eberts looked like he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose to relieve a headache, but gamely rallied. "It is in fact a highly specialized science, requiring years of training. Among the division's tasks are monitoring existing bodies of water, gauging streamflow, maintaining equipment, and finding new areas to monitor."

Hobbes opened his mouth; the Official glared daggers at him until he subsided.

"You two will be engaged in the latter."

"We just—go out and find a new area for them to monitor?" Darien asked doubtfully.

"Have to admit, Chief, doesn't seem like we'd be much use there—what if we pick the wrong place, or something?"

"You can't," Eberts said confidently. "The stream you're going to reconnoiter has already been surveyed by satellite and aerial photography. They just need someone on the ground to confirm the findings and note any anomalies, so that later the real water scientists can go out and set up their monitoring stations." He pulled two matching folders off the top of his pile and handed them over. "Here are the USGS reports on the area, and maps so you'll know where to go."

Darien took his folder, barely glancing at it. "Hold on. We're reconnoitering a stream they already know about? That they already have _pictures of_? For what? To check out its..."

"Streaminess?" Hobbes offered.

"Streaminess! Do we at least get to do anything interesting out there?"

"No!" the Official barked. "You will do nothing interesting. You will walk the ground, and take notes."

"Well, what if we see an anomaly?" Hobbes asked, raising his hand a little. "We should do something about that, right?

"Bobby. When I say 'don't do anything interesting,' that's exactly what I mean. If you spot an anomaly, note it and report back, and a trained water scientist will be sent out to deal with it."

"You two don't have the training to deal with stream anomalies," Eberts added.

Darien slouched back in his chair, rolling his eyes. "Oh, that's great. So why aren't the water scientists doing this themselves?"

Eberts cleared his throat. "It seems that at the annual Hydrological Pot Luck, there were some issues with the chicken salad."

"Oh, ouch," Hobbes said, wincing sympathetically.

"Precisely. It's likely to be several days before they're back up to full strength, and they would prefer not to let a backlog build up, if possible."

"All right, enough explanations. You boys know what you have to do. Eberts! Their gear."

Eberts returned to the pile, scooping up everything that was left and handing each of them a lumpy package and a small notebook with a cheap pen in it. "Wear these, and use these notebooks to record your findings. When you return, I'll collate your data and add it to the official report. It will be best if you both record what you see, so we can note any discrepancies and factor that in. And may I remind you, this gear is on loan from the USGS, and any damage to it—"

"Will come out of our paychecks, we know, _Eberts_."

"Good! As long as we're all clear," the Official said, mock-cheerfully, then abruptly sobered. "Now get out of here."

"Seriously, notebooks? Wouldn't it be easier to give us a laptop so we can add our notes directly to the official report?" Darien waved his notebook, pages flapping in the air.

The Official stared balefully at him. "The last time we gave you two a laptop, you loaded World of Warcraft on it."

Darien grinned. That had been the least boring stakeout ever. And totally worth it, too.

"Level up," Hobbes said cheerfully, holding out his fist until Darien bumped it.

The Official leaned forward. "Any leveling up done around here, gentlemen, will be done by me. Understood?"

"Yeah, sure—wait, what?" Darien asked, a sudden suspicion blooming in his mind. He leaned forward in his chair. "Have you been playing our characters?"

"Chief? What?"

The Official leaned back again and smiled. "My characters now," he said genially. He watched them both, waiting for the moment the truth really sank in, then laughed, long and loud. He was still laughing, easing down to a sort of happy, smug chuckle as they got up to leave, and while they crossed the room and opened the door.

As they walked through, the chuckling was replaced with a familiar barked, "Eberts!"

"Sir?"

"Log me in and start jogging. Find me something to fight."

"Yes, sir."

Darien closed the door with a grimace. "Can you believe him?"

Bobby shook his head. "Fat Man never changes. C'mon, looks like we gotta do some jogging of our own."

* * *

"We look ridiculous."

"We are properly attired for our mission, Fawkes. And therefore, by definition, we do not look ridiculous." Hobbes even looked like he believed it, expression utterly serene as he guided the van through traffic while wearing hip waders and an orange life vest.

"What if we get stopped by the cops?"

"We'll tell them we're on official U.S. government business, is what."

"Yeah, 'cause that always works so well," Darien muttered, poking unhappily at the stiff material over his legs. "I don't understand why we had to put these on already."

Hobbes sighed. "Fawkes, how many times I gotta tell you? It's vital to gear up before a mission starts. You can't just take a break and decide to put your gear on once you're moving. What if we have to suddenly leap out of the van into action?"

"Hobbes, we are going out into the woods to find a damn stream! How much sudden leaping do you think is going to be involved? And I'm telling you, if we have to leap, we're screwed, because these things weigh a ton. "

"Yeah, they're a bit heavy," Hobbes admitted. "But it's still best to be prepared. A good agent, my friend, is _always_ prepared."

"Hey, man, I got a condom in my wallet, I am totally prepared."

Hobbes slanted him a look.

Darien grinned and slid his sunglasses on.

* * *

The woods were actually quite lovely this time of year, leafy and dappled in sunlight, filled with the sounds of nature—the scampering of squirrels, bird calls near and far, wind rustling gently through the branches of the trees that surrounded them. Everywhere Darien looked was green and bursting with life.

"Okay, we're lost," he announced, eyeing the nearest tree suspiciously.

"We are not lost."

"Everything here looks exactly like everything else here. And I've seen that same rabbit four times now. I think it's laughing at us." Darien glared as he spotted the rabbit sitting in the brush ahead and to the left a bit, its ears gleaming in a shaft of sunlight coming through the trees before a cloud drifted across the sun and cast it into shadow. "And did I mention we've been walking for about three days now?"

"Leave the rabbit alone, and it's only been two hours," Hobbes retorted, waving his watch in front of Darien's nose. Darien pushed it away, irritated. The waders were heavy, hot, and awkward, and Hobbes was insisting on marching them through the woods as fast as possible. "Haven't you been taking your notes, marking down the different places and stuff?"

Darien held up his notebook. "I've been taking notes. They all say 'trees' and 'underbrush' and 'giant roots'."

Hobbes smirked, flicking a glance down to Darien's hip and back up again. "Wish I'd had a camera for that, you going all ass over teakettle out in the middle of a nice easy walk like we're having today."

"Look, that thing attacked me, okay? Practically came out of the ground at me."

"Suuuure it did. Came right at ya, I know."

"And that doesn't change the fact that we're lost. We're probably walking in circles."

Hobbes stopped walking, finally, and pulled out the paperwork Eberts had given them, holding the map up against a nearby tree for better visibility. "Look, see? We're right here," he said, jabbing a finger down on what looked like a totally random spot on the map. "We just keep going north-northeast for another couple klicks, and we're there." He jabbed his finger down on a different spot, where presumably the little line meant "here there be stream" or something.

"How do you know we're going north-northeast?" Darien asked. "What if we're really going, I don't know, due east?"

"Bobby Hobbes always knows what direction he's headed, my friend," Hobbes said serenely, folding up the map neatly and stowing it back in his pocket.

"Oh, yeah?"

Hobbes tapped the side of his head. "Always. I'm surprised you don't, Fawkes. I would think, given your former line of work and all..."

"That's why God invented street signs. "

"You're serious, you really don't know where you're going here?"

"Hey, it's no big thing," Darien said, regretting ever having brought it up.

"No, it's important," Hobbes said, frowning. "If we get split up or something, you need to be able to find your way back. Look, there's an easy trick. I don't need it myself, of course—"

"Of course," Darien murmured.

"But you—here, you got a watch on you?"

Wordlessly, Darien stuck out his left wrist. Hobbes took it and looked at it, grunting in approval. "A real watch, that's good—those digital ones, they're not so good for this. Okay, there, you see where the sun is?"

Darien sighed, looked where Hobbes was pointing, and agreed that he saw the sun there.

"Okay, so, you point the hour hand on your watch at the sun—what are you doing?"

Darien glared, trying to contort his wrist. "You said point the hour hand at the sun!"

"You take it off first, Fawkes, jeez, I gotta spell everything out for you?"

Breathing out slowly for patience, Darien tugged the watch off and looked at Hobbes. "Now what?"

"Now you hold it flat in your hand, with the hour hand pointing at the sun, like I said."

With exaggerated motions, Darien carefully arranged the watch on his hand. "Okay?"

"Now, draw a line in your mind between the hour hand and the 12. You see it?"

"I see it."

"Okay, there you go!"

"That's north?"

"Well, that's the north-south line. You figure out which way is east or west, and then you know which way to turn along that line to point north."

"How do I know which way is east?" As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Darien winced; Hobbes's expression didn't help any. "Forget I asked that. I was, um, overcome by the forest."

Hobbes shook his head. "You and me, Fawkesie, we're gonna do some survivalist training when this is over. You're not safe to be let out on your own."

Darien dropped his chin to his chest, sighing. He pretty much had that coming. "Can we just go now? You said a couple klicks, right?"

Still shooting him doubtful looks, Hobbes nodded and started walking again. "Which way is east," he muttered.

Darien pretended he hadn’t heard.

 

Ten minutes later, they still hadn't found it, and Darien figured Hobbes would kill him if he said "are we there yet?" Still. He was bored. "So what happens if it's not there?"

"We are not lost!"

Darien patted a hand against the air. "No, no, I don't mean what if we can't find it, I mean, what if we find it, and there's no water?"

Hobbes frowned at him, cocking his head to one side. "What, you mean... you mean like what if it's dried up?"

"Yeah, exactly, what if there's no water?" The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. "That would be great. We could just turn around and go home, huh?" He nudged Hobbes, grinning happily at the thought of burgers and beers that much faster.

Hobbes didn't grin back. He was staring at Darien, aghast.

Darien blinked. "What?"

"Fawkes!" Hobbes protested. "That would be awful. Why would you say that? Oh, no, there better be water."

"What are you talking about? It would be great! We wouldn't have to get wet, and we could just mark down 'no stream found' and get the hell out of these woods and back to civilization. Coupla nice frosty beers, first round's on me, whaddya say?"

"But what about the animals?"

"What animals?"

"The animals! Raccoons and chipmunks and, like... bears."

"Oh my."

Hobbes glared. "I’m serious, Fawkes. Think about it. An animal is going along, minding his own business, gets a little thirsty, right? So what does he do?"

Darien grimaced. "He goes to the stream for a drink."

"He goes to the stream for a drink, that’s right. Except now..."

"No stream."

"No stream. And the little chipmunks are all dropping dead of thirst."

"I’m sure there are other streams..."

Hobbes pulled the map back out of his pocket and waved it at him. "Did you see any other streams marked on this? 'Cause I didn't."

Darien sighed, defeated. "Okay, you’re right. I'm sorry. I hope there's water in the stream."

"You see? Bobby Hobbes always knows."

But Hobbes looked worried now, and Darien could have kicked himself.

A few minutes later, Hobbes's expression cleared as the sound of a happily burbling stream reached them, and Darien heaved a silent sigh of relief. They pushed their way through the underbrush and finally broke through to the stream's banks, standing in silent contemplation for a minute.

"So now what?" Darien asked finally. He squinted up at the sky where clouds were starting to roll in, hoping they'd keep right on rolling by.

"I guess we go in," Hobbes said doubtfully. "I mean, that's probably why they gave us the waders, right?"

"Makes sense," Darien agreed. He wasn't really looking forward to it—the stream was moving pretty fast, and it looked kinda slippery down there, and really, shouldn’t something that looked that wide be called a river?—but on the other hand, he'd been wearing the damn rubber pants for hours now, and they might as well do him some actual good.

"Here." Hobbes moved a few steps away, bending to pick something up, and came back with a couple of long sticks in his hand. He gave one to Darien. "Let's use these to get a depth sounding."

"Depth sounding—isn't that for, like, the ocean?"

"It's for water, okay, and this is water, and we need to see how deep it is. Ergo, we're gonna take a depth sounding."

It made as much sense as anything else, and Darien took the stick. "Okay. I guess we just go in?"

"I guess," Hobbes shrugged. "C'mon—and watch your footing, city boy."

Darien rolled his eyes. He might have an invisibility gland instead of a compass in his head, but he'd been doing second-story work for years before he met Hobbes. "Thanks, I think I can stay on my feet," he said, picking his way down the bank.

Turned out streams weren't quite like rooftops or even narrow ledges. Darien swore as his feet nearly went out from under him the minute he stepped in; the bottom was covered in unstable rocks, and the hip waders went from being awkward to being impossible.

Hobbes serenely picked his way out to the middle, stick held safely dry out of the water, looking like he'd done this a million times.

"Oh, don't tell me you've done this before."

"I happen to be a master fisherman, if you must know. Starting with a fishing hole when I was a kid."

"The old fishing hole, huh?"

Hobbes grinned. "The old fishing hole," he agreed.

"You ever do any swimming in that fishing hole?"

"Well, yeah, but then we called it a swimming hole."

Darien tipped his head to one side in a nod. "Of course."

"Used to do a little skinny-dipping in it, even."

"Yeah? What'd you call it then?"

"Heaven, my friend. Pure heaven." He stumbled a bit as the current caught at him, upsetting his balance for a moment.

"Hah!"

"Minor setback, nothing to concern yourself about. No stream has ever gotten the best of Bobby Hobbes, and this one is not going to be the first. You just got me distracted there, that's all. And don't think I haven't noticed you're stalling. Now get out here, and put your stick in."

Caught, Darien cautiously made his way out to Hobbes, testing every step before he put any weight on it. When he got there Hobbes was standing braced against the current, trying to pull his notebook and pen out without losing his stick.

"Damn, this thing's really moving fast." He copied Hobbes's pose, tucking his stick into his elbow to pull out his notebook. "Um. Hobbes."

"Yeah?"

"How are we supposed to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Measure this." To illustrate, Darien jabbed his stick into the water.

"Yeah, okay?"

"If I let go of the stick to write in the notebook, I lose the stick," Darien pointed out patiently.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Hobbes admitted. "But I got it figured out."

"Well, why don't you share with the class."

"We trade."

"Trade."

"We trade," Hobbes repeated with an easy shrug.

"Trade _what_?"

"Trade measurements! Look, I put my stick in the water, and you write down how deep it is. And then vice versa."

Darien grinned at him. "So what you're saying is, you'll show me yours if I show you mine. And we'll see whose is longer."

Hobbes smirked. "Essentially, yes."

"Okay, I can work with that. Just one problem."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"What are we supposed to write down, 'half a stick'?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"Well." Hobbes brightened. "We can _mark_ the sticks, where the water line is."

"Oh, that'll work," Darien said, pleased. "And the bottom, too, so we know which end went in."

"Partner, if you need to mark which end to put in..." Hobbes trailed off, shaking his head.

"Oh, I know what end to put in," Darien said, letting his eyes do a little wandering. The hip waders really did look ridiculous, but Hobbes was managing to pull the whole outdoorsy thing off.

Hobbes coughed. "Okay, you go first," he said, taking Darien's notebook and leaving him with just stick and pen. Darien carefully marked the bottom of the stick, then put it back in the water and leaned over to draw a line at the water level. Movement in the water caught his eye and he paused, hoping to see a cool fish.

It wasn't a fish. Darien yelped as a snake, long and dark with a yellow stripe down its back, swam straight for him and between his legs. Instinctively, he quicksilvered and twisted to get away, scrambling and falling over onto Hobbes, tumbling them both into the stream with a huge splash.

"Fawkes! Darien!" Hobbes shouted frantically, grappling for him in the water. "What happened? Are you hurt?" He got a grip on the strap of Darien's waders and hung on as they swept downstream in the current.

"Snake," Darien gasped, scrambling for footing against the slick rocks. "Snake in the water. Between my _legs_."

The stream curved a bit to the left and Hobbes took advantage, angling them over to the bank where they hauled themselves out. Darien shook off the quicksilver with an apologetic grimace, glancing out at the water.

"Oh, no."

Hobbes gave him a sharp look. "Now what? More snakes?"

"No." Darien held out his empty hands.

"Fawkes, I'm a little too bruised to want to play, okay? What's in your hands?" Hobbes asked, poking at the air above them. "What're you hiding?"

"Nothing—Bobby, we lost the sticks. And—"

"And the notebooks," Hobbes realized, peering downstream like he could find them and rescue them.

"Good thing the Official didn't give us that laptop, huh?"

They looked at each other and winced at the thought.

"So now what?" Darien asked.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and fat wet drops began to fall. Hobbes shook his head. "I know when I'm beat. We go home, partner."

"Oh, thank God," Darien said. "And guess what I just found out?"

"You got water in your shorts?"

"No. Quicksilver keeps you dry." Darien slung an arm around Hobbes, letting quicksilver flow over both of them, sealing out the rain that was starting to fall in earnest.

"I like the way you think, Fawkes," Hobbes said. "Wow, that's pretty, huh?"

Darien looked at the silver rain falling on the silver stream, and smiled. "It sure is." They stood watching the rain for a few minutes, leaning against each other comfortably, until finally Darien stirred. "Come on, we should go. Hey, think they'll send us back out here?"

Hobbes let himself be tugged into motion, his arm settling around Darien's waist as they walked. "Count on it. Big Man's not gonna want to tell our new bosses we couldn't get the job done. We'll be back out tomorrow."

"Supposed to be nice tomorrow," Darien said casually. "Maybe we should bring a picnic."

Hobbes glanced at him. "Yeah? That sounds good. Coupla sandwiches, maybe some potato chips."

Darien just grinned.

"Finally getting used to the woods, huh?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just hungry." Darien bumped him with his hip.

"Heh."

A few minutes later, they reached the spot where they'd come into the clearing by the stream, and started working their way back through the brush for the walk back to the van. "Okay, we go—man, everything looks different in quicksilver. Take it off for a minute, wouldja, so I can make sure we're heading in the right direction?"

"Oh, that's all right, I've got it," Darien said.

"You? Mister 'what way is east?' _You're_ gonna get us back to the van. Okay, this I gotta see."

"Hey, I learned from the master, right?"

Hobbes preened. "That's right. But it's not exactly sunny out anymore."

Darien glanced briefly at the sky, but not even seeing in higher spectrums could help with a sun hidden behind both clouds and trees. "Trust me."

"Oh, I trust you, partner. I'm just sayin', we wind up in Mexico, you're buying the tacos. That's all."

"We're not going to Mexico." Darien cast around him for a minute, hoping he was right. Hobbes had to have left a trail on the way in; compass in his head or not, there was no way to get back to a specific point without having a specific trail to follow, right? So all he had to do was find it.

"Still waiting," Hobbes said helpfully.

Bingo, there it was: a scatter of rocks near a tree root. "This way," Darien said confidently, pointing toward the left.

"Well, I'll be damned," Hobbes said. "Okay, you got that part right. Now you just gotta get us back to Golda."

Darien struck off, tugging Hobbes with him and keeping his eyes peeled for the next bit of trail sign. A few rocks here, a bent twig there, nothing obvious if you weren't looking for it.

"You're following my trail, aren't you?" Hobbes asked eventually.

Darien grinned and nudged him. "Like I said, man, I learned from the master."

Hobbes preened all the way back to the van.

* * *

"Hey Hobbes?"

"Yeah?"

"Think Eberts will make us pay for the notebooks if we explain the snake ate our homework?"


End file.
